I Didn't Know, I Saw
by Xiah-sensei
Summary: A collection of Drabbles featuring Sherlock and John. Some slight slash, not all. Fluff, angst, hurt/comfort pretty much anything I can think of at the moment I'm writing. Enjoy! R
1. Get Me Some

"Get me some." The voice of John's temperamental flatmate commanded from the doorway to the kitchen.

"No." John replied perhaps a little to jovially as he stirred his black coffee.

"_John_!" The world's only consulting detective whined plodding closer to John's place by the counter top. "I _need_ some!"

John turned, cup in hand, to face Sherlock. "Nope." He popped moving around the other side of the table to get further away from the annoyance that is Sherlock Holmes.

It had been months since their last case which involved far too much fire for John's liking and Sherlock was becoming increasingly insufferable. Shooting the wall had become boring, taking smaller cases was tedious and shopping was almost taboo. John was likening living with him to have a five year old child constantly at his elbow showing him things and whining for him to take him places. That's what it seemed like most days anyway.

A dramatic sigh sounded from the kitchen as John made himself comfortable in his chair with the paper in his hands and the TV giving the nice background noise of Radio 2. Sherlock flounced into the room and fell into a crouch beside John's chair. "John…" He began. John continued to read his paper as if Sherlock weren't even there. This aggravated the detective more than he cared to admit. "John!" Nothing. Not even a twitch. Well, John did turn the page in his paper settling on a more gripping story about climate change and Sherlock quite deliberately pushed into his personal space, stole the remote control from the coffee table and turned off the TV. He then snatched the paper from John's hands and continued to crouch and stare at John's exasperated expression.

"What is it, Sherlock? Already said 'no' and I'm not changing my mind." Sherlock continued to stare stubbornly into John's eyes and John very determinedly held his gaze.

Sherlock sighed a long suffering sigh and his head fell heavily onto John's shoulder. This strange contact shocked and baffled the army doctor and he stared wide eyed at the place where his flatmate's head had once been. "Am I going to have to beg?" The detective muttered reluctantly from his place on John's shoulder.

"No," He cleared his throat awkwardly. "No, of course you aren't, because the answer would still be 'no'."

Sherlock jumped up suddenly with a 'damn!' and John jumped in his seat in fright, caught unawares once again.

John sighed and rubbed his forehead in despair closing his eyes and counting to ten. "Sherlock," He said finally. "Have you checked your website recently?"

"Ten minutes and fourteen seconds ago but it couldn't hurt to check again." The last part was said as he lunged across the room towards John's laptop.

John winced as the detectives hands collided with it and not for the first time that day wondered why on earth put up with this shit.


	2. How Can I Live Without You?

**A/N: Enjoy this as much as you can.. considering it's pretty dark... darker than anything Sherlock I've done before anyway.**

* * *

**How can I live without you?**

He was falling. Again. Sherlock was falling. John's heart constricted, his airways closed off, his vision blinkered. He couldn't look at anything, couldn't hear anything, nothing, there was nothing but the broken body of his closest friend, his flat mate, partner lying on the pavement.

The blood was seeping towards him but he was stood frozen, his mobile phone lay next to his idle feet. Then Sherlock was falling for a second time and again John felt the pain, he felt the heartbreak. This time Mrs Hudson was there, standing with him crying. The vision replayed again and Harry was there stumbling and falling in front of him blocking his view of Sherlock and forcing John into action. He pushed at his sister, well, he tried to. She remained stumbling and cursing and constantly belittling him in her drunken state. She told him it was his fault Sherlock fell. Sherlock died because of him.

Those dreams plagued John for months and months. He woke screaming and thrashing. Sometimes he would wake in the hall, or the living room, or even in the middle of the street after his night terrors. Sometimes he would dream of Afghanistan but those dreams were in pale comparison to the terror, the crippling fear and anguish that John faces in his dreams of Sherlock. But he welcomes those dreams, nightmares. He welcomes them because the alternative is so much worse. Sometimes he dreams of Sherlock, not dead, not broken and bloody, but excited, happy having just cracked a new case or just stumbled upon one. Sometimes he dreamt of memories. Of Sherlock whining and moping about while John just read the paper and sipped coffee. After those dreams John would wake with a pathetic swell of hope in his chest. Hope that rose from seeing Sherlock, hearing him, _believing_ that he was still alive. Then he was glance around his sparse bedroom, realise he was not in 221b Baker Street and cry for an unknown period of time before he was finally able to go into his tiny kitchen in his studio apartment and make himself some tea. The silence swells in the darkness as he prepares it. The broken mug, _his_ broken mug. After a few weeks of wallowing in 221b and Mrs Hudson being lenient with the rent he realised staying would be impossible. He threw the mug at the wall. Then taped it back together when he realised it was Sherlock's mug, his favourite blue one. John cried himself to sleep that night, he couldn't find one of the pieces. He bought super glue the next day. The mug was never the same… would never be the same. It was missing a large piece. He could relate to the mug, like the mug John knew he would never be whole again.

* * *

**A/N: ****Wow, this and the accompanying drabble which is coming next is much more angsty than I wanted it to be... but oh well. Guess it's just reflecting how I feel and how I think John would feel, if I lost someone so close to me. This can be interpreted as slash or not, but I wrote it in a bromance sense, not lovers or anything. I wrote this because it's clear how much Sherlock means to John and vice versa so I wanted to show how John will cope.**

**Please review! :D I love you all!**


	3. How Do I Cope Without You?

**A/N: Yeah... so this is the sequal to 'How can I live without you?' which is the previous chapter.**

* * *

**How Do I Cope Without You?**

Sherlock winced visibly as he accidently knocked over John's lamp on his bedside table. His new apartment was insufferably small and _very_ difficult to break into. John stirred and Sherlock stilled staring with wide eyes at his friend. John shifted and rolled onto his side away from Sherlock and he breathed a sigh of relief. Sherlock tread carefully out of the bedroom and into the living room/kitchen. Sherlock felt a small twinge of pain when he noticed the packet of 25g Amber Leaf tobacco. Sherlock lifted the window quickly and quietly and threw the tobacco out of the window and straight into the lap of a rough looking teenager sitting on a bench in the street. The teenager and his friends looked up to him and he waved a smiled. The teenagers cheered and called their thanks, their loud voices filtering into the apartment before Sherlock was able to shut the window fully. He stilled for five minutes to make sure John had not woken up, after confirming that John was thrashing quietly in his bed Sherlock made his way into the kitchen. He checked the fridge first and studied its contents against his mental list of healthy foods. There was plenty of vegetables in the bottom drawers which pleased Sherlock as he could tick of greens from the list. Fruit in another drawer seemed healthy enough and potatoes and onions in another. There were eggs in the top shelf of the fridge door, a half full bottle of milk on a lower shelf with a full bottle of chilli sauce and mayonnaise. There was butter on another shelf in the actual fridge and a slab of cheese, along with a packet of ham and what looked to be the remains of a kebab in a cellophane box. Frowning, the detective took out the kebab and put it on the counter top to throw away later. He moved onto the cupboards finding cereal, bread, one white roll, three tins of baked beans, some tins of tuna and anchovies. After checking over the other drawers and cupboards to make sure he hadn't missed anything Sherlock moved to the bathroom. Sherlock took the liberty of stashing two bottles of vitamins and supplements he'd bought the other day into John's medicine cabinet. While he was trying to make room he noticed a bottle he'd hoped would not be there. He picked up the innocent looking pill bottle and read the label.

"Trazodone," He murmured quietly to himself. "Atypical antidepressant, doesn't fit into any other category of antidepressant… heavily sedating side effects…" Just as Sherlock finished he heard a bang from the direction of John's room. Sherlock replaced the pill bottle and ran, fear and adrenaline pumping through his heart. Being found out would put them both in danger but John could be in danger right now and that was enough for Sherlock to jerk into action.

Once in John's room he watched as John fisted the sheets and sobbed brokenly into the silence of the room. The lamp was lying on the floor beside the bed and the bedside table was leaning against the opposite wall at a precarious angle. After another particularly loud sob echoed in the quietness of the room Sherlock slowly approached. John's eyes were blown wide, staring but unseeing at the ceiling, he was mumbling words that made no sense to Sherlock but to John they seemed to be making him more upset. John thrashed again and sat up in bed lurching out and trying to grab something. Sherlock hesitated and stared. John sobbed again and to Sherlock's surprise he was suddenly sitting down on the bed next to John shushing him and placing strong but shaking hands on his shoulders. John's shoulders quaked in his grip and Sherlock found himself pulling him closer, trying to still the shudders and the jerking of his chest as he sobbed brokenly. Sherlock wound his arms around John's shoulders and whispered into his ear, "Shhhh, John it's alright. John, calm down, it's me. Calm down."

The words seemed to cast a spell over the possessed doctor because he sagged and arms that had once been blindly grasping at the air were winding themselves around the detectives' slim body. "Sherlock?" John's voice was thick from crying, sleep and pain and Sherlock felt a lump form in his throat, he couldn't speak. "Sherlock?" John's voice was desperate and full of sleepy hope. He nodded mutely against the man's shoulder.

"Go back to sleep, John." But the words weren't necessary. John had been asleep the whole time.

Sherlock gently let John rest back against the mattress and straightened the duvet over him. For the first time in all the months that Sherlock had been visiting him, John was sleeping peacefully.

It was only when Sherlock crawled back out of the window and out onto the fire escape did his cheeks feel unnaturally damp and cold in the night air.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for reading! More will be up soon! Any prompts are welcome!**

**Review please, lovelys!**


End file.
